


In the Off-Season

by turnedouttobeagaything



Series: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedouttobeagaything/pseuds/turnedouttobeagaything
Summary: Dean can't keep his attention on the case anymore. His eyes keep wandering to their crumpled jackets on the bed; the light layer of frost on the window. He's tired and fed up with all the dead ends they're hitting and Cas is sitting across from him, rubbing his eyes wearily. It's December 15th—almost Christmas for God's sake—and they're out on a hunt."Hey," Dean says, nudging Castiel's foot with his own. "Let's do something festive."___Dean and Cas take a break from a case.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (but hopefully not last) SPN fic challenge! 
> 
> This fic was inspired by [I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PITCmngiMfA) and that song spawned so many ideas that I had a very hard time narrowing it down! It's a little shocking how drastically different my first version of the challenge fic is compared to this final one, but I could not have been happier with the way it turned out! Hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)
> 
> Lastly, check out my [tumblr](http://turnedouttobeagaything.tumblr.com/)! I'm pretty new and would love some people to chat with!!

Kearney is a small, quiet, _normal_ town. You know, if you don't count the two missing teens, the baby that was found on a porch, and the rampaging hippo that destroyed a backyard on 11th street. _And_ the news article Cas has been squinting at for the past ten minutes. 

 _Kearney PTA Mom Caught Canoodling with Santa!_ it reads in obnoxious lettering. There's a grainy cell phone picture of a woman straddling Santa Claus' lap in the middle of the local Christmas Village and a couple of traumatized kids in the background. Just average, normal town stuff. 

"Cas," Dean says again, "maybe they were just horny. It might not have anything to do with the case."

"We shouldn't discount it," he says, (finally) putting the article carefully down in front of him. "It seems unusual."

Dean rolls his eyes. "This whole case is unusual. What the hell kind of creature would mess with kids but _also_ play matchmaker?"

"Some sort of...Shtriga-Cupid hybrid?"

"A _Shtrupid_ ," Dean says, helpless to keep the amusement from his voice. "You—you’re saying we’re looking for a Shtrupid?”

Cas shoots him a dirty look. "Do you have a better idea?"

"No," Dean mutters, making a face, "but your idea still doesn't explain the hippo."

" _Nothing_ explains the hippo."

He's right. Which is why Dean doesn't blame the local cops for having basically nothing in the way of leads, witnesses, or theories. Hell, he and Cas don't have anything—and they've been sitting at this dinky motel table, eating increasingly cold pizza and poring over all the copied case files for a few hours.

So far, the only thing they know for sure is that all the victims visited the same Christmas Village at some point—but even _that_ is seeming more like a coincidence. They'd woken up at the ass-crack of dawn to investigate the grounds and check for EMF, only to come away with a big fat pile of absolutely _nothing_. This case sucks.

"Maybe it's some sort of cursed object," Dean offers. 

"Possible." There's a considering frown on his face. "But where exactly do you suggest we start looking for it? The Christmas Village isn't exactly small."

Dean throws his half-eaten slice back in the box, exhaling an irritated breath. "Fuck, I don't know."

They lapse into a frustrated silence, but Dean can't keep his attention on the case anymore. His eyes keep wandering to their crumpled jackets on the bed; the light layer of frost on the window. He's tired and fed up with all the dead ends they're hitting and Cas is sitting across from him, rubbing his eyes wearily. It's December 15th—almost _Christmas_ for God's sake—and they're out on a hunt.

"Hey," Dean says, nudging Castiel's foot with his own. "Let's do something festive."

Cas looks up at him, a little startled at Dean's sudden subject change. "Festive?"

"Yeah, you know. _Christmassy._ This case isn't going anywhere."

He frowns; sets the case file he's holding down onto a stack of others just like it. "What do you want to do?"

Dean has a vision of Cas spread out on a couch with a red ribbon tied around his dick. He looks soft and hazy—lit by a fire, or maybe Christmas tree lights—and there's a cheesy Christmas movie playing in the background; a half-eaten holiday tin of variety popcorn abandoned on the coffee table. 

He wants to do _that_ very much. He's only sucked Castiel's dick a total of one time so far, but it was a glorious experience that Dean would very much like to repeat. Maybe one day. Later. When Dean can actually bring himself to say it out loud.

Right now, this thing between them is so new that he's still having to remind himself that he's _allowed_ to stare or touch Cas for more than a second or two. Unloading his dumb holiday sex fantasies on him at 4 pm in the afternoon is a little too much for Dean to handle. Instead, he says: "We could, uh, head back to that Christmas Village." 

"Do you think we missed something?"

"No, not for the case. Just—we could just go together." He spins the laptop around so it faces Cas. "Look: they do a tree-lighting ceremony every night once it gets dark."

"Dean," he says, exasperated. "I thought you were researching the case!"

"I _was!_   Mostly." He grins at Cas until his shrewd look shifts into a reluctant smile. 

"Fine," he huffs, shoving away from the table. "Grab your coat."

* * *

Kearney's Christmas Village is a quaint little operation in the middle of a Nebraskan field. Most of the main attractions are geared towards all the kids scurrying around (a picture with Santa, face painting, a supervised snowball fight, etc.) but there are plenty of little stalls for the adults to spend money at too. They're all decorated with fairy lights that are shining uselessly in the late afternoon sunlight and selling hand-made ornaments and other tchotchkes that Cas stops and studies every couple of feet. 

"Sam might like this," Cas says, holding up a spherical, paper-mâché ornament.

Dean squints at it. "Yeah," he shrugs. Sam probably will like it, if only because it came from Cas. "Maybe."

"It's made of pages from _To Kill a Mockingbird_ ," he tells Dean. "I remember Sam mentioning that was one of his favorite books to read in school."

"Oh." Dean softens slightly. "Yeah, Cas. That's a great idea."

They continue through the village like that: Cas buying little gifts for friends and family and Dean making noises of support and slowly freezing his ass off. After Cas carefully picks out a knitted stocking that says _Family_ for Mary, Dean wanders away to dig an extra scarf out of the Impala's trunk. Since Cas' cheeks have steadily been growing red with cold, he also ends up buying two cups of spiced cider on the way back. 

"Thank you, Dean," he says, when Dean hands him a steaming paper cup. 

"Whatever," he shrugs, settling the scarf around Cas' neck as best as he can with one hand. Cas makes a noise of surprise, like he hadn't realized how much the blustery wind was affecting him until it wasn't anymore. "Can't have my favorite hunting partner coming down with hypothermia."

Cas snorts inelegantly, breath fogging out in front of him, but there's a reluctant smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "Oh, is _that_ the only reason?"

"Alright, fine." Dean's eyes narrow at Cas' teasing tone. "Maybe I like you a little bit." He holds up his thumb and index finger a scant half-inch apart. "Just a _little_."

There's a little smirk on Cas' face that suggests he knows exactly how full of shit Dean is, but it softens into a smile the longer Dean watches. The sight makes his stomach dip pathetically. "Thank you, Dean," he says again, a little quieter this time.

If they weren't solidly in the Midwest surrounded by middle-aged people and their children, Dean would kiss him. As it is, he just hooks an arm around Cas' shoulder and pulls him close as they set off deeper into the village.

* * *

"On your left, you'll see the fence that Farmer Jim erected in 1952," Dean announces in his best Tour Guide voice. "Past that is the tree that all the high school sweethearts carve their name into." With shopping complete and their ciders gone, they've been meandering around the grounds while they wait for the sun to fully set. Dean has taken to making up witty commentary to help pass the time.

He's carrying half of the shopping bags—like the doting boyfriend he likes to pretend he isn't—and his arm is still looped around Cas. Occasionally (usually when Dean makes an especially terrible joke), Cas' arm will come up around Dean as well, fingers gripping his shoulder tightly. 

"Over here on the right," he continues, ignoring Cas' good-natured groan of protest, "you'll find the field where Nebraska's 8000th lamb was born."

"That field is actually in the northern part of the state," he corrects. His deadpan delivery is so perfect that Dean has no idea whether he's joking or not. 

"Huh," he says, dropping the bit in favor of a more serious question. "You really remember all the stuff you knew when you were an angel?"

"Not everything," Cas says after a moment, watching his boots crunch over some dead leaves. "I don't think the human mind is built to contain all of that information. But I remember enough."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I remember languages. The major heavenly battles." He thinks for a moment. "I remember how it felt to feel nothing."

Dean snorts. "Well I remember how excited you got over that Mickey Mouse pancake I made you," he tells him. "So clearly, that's a thing of the past."

"Mickey Mouse...?" Cas furrows his brow. "Oh. I thought it was supposed to be in the shape of a penis."

"Oh, fuck off," Dean laughs, though his smile fades when Cas just shrugs. "Wait, _w_ _hat?_   You got excited over a dick pancake?" Someone walking past gives them a scandalized glare. 

"It's the simple things, Dean," Cas says, eyes crinkling at the corners. He lowers his voice slightly, lips tugging up on one side. "Perhaps I was mostly excited because I thought it was a proposition."

"Dammit Cas, it was supposed to be Mickey Mouse!" he exclaims, voice strangled and a flush itching at his cheeks. 

"Well it was extremely misshapen."

"Come on," Dean says, leading Cas back towards the village center. "Let's just. It's almost dark; they're gonna light the tree soon."

Cas seems _far_ too entertained at Dean's embarrassment, and the grin doesn't leave his face the whole way back. He lets his arm fall away from Cas as they join the small crowd around the tree. Dean has a sneaking suspicion this tree lighting "ceremony" is going to be a little bit underwhelming, mostly because it looks like someone bought one of the 9 footers they sell at Home Depot, plopped it in the middle of a field, and then tossed some shiny ornaments on it. 

"Hey," Dean murmurs suddenly, elbowing him in the ribs. He has to check. "You having fun?"

Cas nods. "Yes, very much. This was a good idea, Dean."

Dean relaxes minutely. He's been trying very hard not to dwell on the fact that this is technically their first real date together since the greasy spoon diners (where Sam may or may not be present) and the occasional grocery runs probably don't count. Christ. Dean's the worst. Most of their time together is spent in the bunker, and Dean makes a mental note to take Cas out a little more often.

Sure, he feels a little bit like an idiot for suggesting they take a break to come and see _this_ , but when the lights finally come on, the small crowd gasps and cheers and Cas smiles and the blinking lights play prettily over his face. 

 _It's the simple things_ , Cas had said. 

Dean eyes the tiny patch of stubble at the bolt of his jaw that he never quite shaves all the way; the cowlick in the back of his hair; his blue eyes.

It's the simple things alright. 

"This is wonderful," Cas says, turning and catching Dean's gaze. He blinks, seemingly surprised that Dean is already looking at him ( _I'm allowed to stare_ , Dean reminds himself stubbornly), and his hand steals over to squeeze Dean's briefly. " _You're_ wonderful."

"Aw, jeez, Cas," he teases, batting his eyes at him. "You're gonna make me blush."

Cas mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "wouldn't be the first time," and Dean can't resist pulling him close for a hard press of his lips against his temple in retaliation—Midwest be damned. 

* * *

The drive back to the motel feels much shorter than the drive to the Christmas Village had. In no time at all, Dean is taking the key out of the ignition and resigning himself to a long, restless night of fruitless research. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't even want to leave the warmth of the Impala. The heater had been running at full-blast, cranking out a thick, cozy sort of heat that's a welcome respite from the December chill. He just wants to hold on to that good feeling that's been simmering under his skin all evening for a little while longer.

"Well," he says, voice too loud in the quiet cab. "Back to business, huh?"

Cas pauses with his fingers on the door handle, looking back at him with curiosity that grows the longer he doesn't move. "Yes," he says slowly. "Looks like it."

"Saving people, hunting things, right?" Dean quips. "Even in the off-season."

"Dean, we don't _get_ an off-season."

"Well damn," he says dryly. "That's no fair. We should call the union."

Cas gives a little amused huff and settles back in his seat; lolls his head over to the side so he can study Dean's profile. "Do you regret coming on this case?" he asks after a moment. 

"No," Dean says immediately, but that isn't exactly true. Even without his mojo, Cas has that same, uncanny knack for knowing exactly what Dean _isn't_ saying. "Maybe," he amends, fingering the grooves of his car key. "Don't you? We should be at the bunker, doing real Christmas shit."

Cas is quiet for a moment, thinking. The ticking of the cooling Impala is the only sound between them. "Christmas is about giving, not receiving," he says finally. "Sacrificing our time and energy to secretly help people in need seems like the epitome of 'doing real Christmas shit'." 

Dean stares at him, a fond swell of emotion slowly blooming in his chest. Cas is right. Cas is usually right, about a lot of different things, but Dean is really glad he's right about this. Soon, they'll trudge back inside and hit the books so they can figure out why in the hell hippos are manifesting and soccer moms are kissing Santa. But right now, Dean figures they deserve one more second to be selfish. "You're pretty awesome, you know that, Cas?"

Cas smiles—in that endearing, confused way that he does when he doesn't understand Dean's reaction to something, but is enjoying it anyways. "Maybe _you're_ awesome," he counters. 

Dean leans a little closer and stretches his arm out along the seatback behind Cas. " _Maybe_ you should remind me to pick up some mistletoe next time we're at the store."

"Mistletoe?" Cas, if possible, looks even more baffled.

"Yeah," Dean shrugs, mouth quirking up at one corner. "Maybe I want to kiss you."

He blinks, the confused creases of his face smoothing into something fond and teasing. "You don't need mistletoe to kiss me, Dean."

"Killjoy," he mutters, even as he leans over to seal their lips together.

Dean has kissed Cas before. They've kissed softly in the bunker's kitchen; fierce and wanting in the darkness of Dean's bedroom. They jerked each other off two days ago. And yet, it still feels novel and strange any time he works up the nerve to plant one on Cas. 

This time, it's easy and slow; unhurried by desire or circumstance. This time—like every other time—it's perfect.


End file.
